'Cause I'm a-goin' to start out
an' take in everything that's open in this man's town, an' if I find him
I'll just nachelly show him the onprincipledness of lyin' to a friend."
Stepping to the bar he bought a drink and a moment later swung onto the
big rangy black and clattered down the street. At the edge of the town
he turned and started slowly back, dismounting wherever the lights of a
saloon illumined the dingy street, but never once catching a glimpse of
the figure that followed in the thick blackness of the shadows. Before
the saloon of the surly proprietor the cowpuncher brought his big black
to a stand and sat contemplating the sorrel that stood dejectedly with
ears adroop and one hind foot resting lightly upon the toe.
"So that's the cayuse Fatty wanted to trade me for Ace of Spades!" he
snorted. "That dog-legged, pot-gutted, lop-eared patch of red he offers
to trade to _me_ fer _Ace of Spades_! It's a doggone insult! I didn't
know it at the time, havin' only a couple of drinks, an' too sober to
judge a insult when I seen one. But it's different now, I can see it in
the dark. I'm a-goin' in there an'--an' twist his nose off an' feed it
to him. But first I got to find old Bat. He's an Injun, but he's a good
old scout, an' I hate to think of him walkin' all the way to Montana
while some damn Greaser is spendin' my hard earned samolians that I give
him for carfare.
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